


The Cat With Its Laugh

by Barkour



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cat and Mouse, F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: Zarya catches a mouse and is caught in turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the new "Infiltration" short!

Many things distinguished Zarya. She counted on them to do so. Perhaps the mouse favored stealth. So too the cat: but could a cat not be bold? 

Night, in a cafe in Dorado. Yellow lights spilled across the streets. Autumn, here, was warm. The little nip of evening could not match the autumns Zarya knew. 

The news of the LumériCo CEO's resignation reigned. Zarya made do with a small evening coffee and the newsfeed on the television. The coffee was spiced, the newsfeed bland. Sasha had sent her an e-mail detailing his findings. Dull work, to chase a ghost. It chafed at her. A modicum of thrill, yes, to be had at each new lead; but this tedious work ill-fitted her. 

The cafe's business wound down. The owner bustled to the back to do some menial work. A last woman entered, hair wound up in a thin, violet scarf. It showed sweetly on her dark skin. Zarya turned her interest aside. 

Dourly Zarya admitted that likely the agent had moved on, if she had ever been in Dorado. But she had come to speak with the Volskaya president in person, a bold step. Zarya thought Sombra to be bold. Reckless, if skilled at swift movement. 

Frowning, dropping the phone on the table beside the coffee cup on its saucer, Zarya leaned back in the chair. The old, polished wood creaked beneath her. She tapped two fingers on the phone's screen.

The woman laughed. She had a mean and husking laugh, the sort of laugh that caught at the ear and tugged at the jaw.

Zarya the hound! as Sasha would tease. Zarya rolled her shoulder till it cracked and made to stand. 

The newsfeed blanked out. A woman's voice barked: "Pon atencion, Aleksandra Zaryanova!"

She snapped to the TV. A pink skull, a sugar skull like the candies sold at the street carts, leered from a black screen. Another laugh, as mean: this, from the TV.

Cloth cascaded over Zarya's face, sheer, soft against her cheeks. Zarya tensed, hand moving to her thigh where her gun sat, the other coming up to tear the scarf from her. The woman smiled and leaned in close. Her finger, silver-clawed, the metal chilled, tapped Zarya's nose.

"Boop," she said. "You've been looking for me, hound." She laughed and withdrew.  
"Well: you've found me. Congratulations!"

Zarya clutched the gun's handle tightly. Narrowly she watched as the woman, hair striped, sleek jacket popped open at the collar, fell artlessly into the opposing chair. The woman--Sombra--eyed Zarya with interest.

"You're even bigger in person."

"And you are smaller," said Zarya. She released the gun and resettled, laying her arms out on the table between them. "I did not think you would come out into the open so easily."

Sombra fluttered her hand in the air and sighed. "Oh, it wasn't so hard. They've really improved the bus schedule."

"What do you want?" Zarya cut in. "Why are you here now?"

Her hand still arched, Sombra pulled her mouth to one side. Her eyes lidded. 

"I'm used to rudeness," she said, "but you could say 'hello.'"

"And I'm not interested in pretending at friendship," said Zarya. She stood, pushing the chair back. She knew very well what it did to her height, her shoulders, the breadth of her. Sombra only smiled, as if it amused her.

"You will come with me."

"Oh, so tempting," said Sombra, "but that wouldn't be very convenient for me."

Zarya nodded and moved forward. "Then I will make you come with me."

"I believe you could," said Sombra, "if you could touch me. But I'm sure your boss told you about my little..." She waggled her gloved fingers, the claws glimmering. "Tricks."

"Every bag of tricks has a bottom."

"You're funnier than I thought you would be," said Sombra.

"And you," said Zarya, "are much less funny."

Sombra shrugged and tipped her head to one side. Her hair, cut asymmetrically, fell striped against her cheek. She'd a little stone in the peak of the cheek, a grey-silver stone that winked in the dim light.

"Do you even know why you're here?" asked Sombra.

"I know everything," said Zarya. She took a step and it brought her beside Sombra, who smiled leanly at her again. "I know that you are a murderer. A thief. A threat to the future of Russia. And I know that I'm going to be the one who takes you in."

Sombra remained unmoved. With a certain elegancy she leaned forward, elbow on the table, her cheek cupped in her palm with three fingers curved to embrace. The fall of her hair masked her eye. Zarya's shoulders itched, the span of her back as well. 

"But do you know why your dear boss wanted you to come for me?"

"I've seen the tapes," said Zarya. "And I've read the reports. I have seen what you've done. It was very..." She shrugged as though careless. "Impressive."

Sombra rounded her eyes and her lips. "You don't want to know why?"

Zarya sneered. "It doesn't matter why. It only matters that it was done."

And Sombra stood, a fluid motion that brought her near to flush with Zarya. Zarya did not recoil at this. She did not shudder or breathe deeply. Sombra's chin rose. Her eyes were thickly, blackly lined. A powerful annoyance stuck at Zarya: of course Sombra would be attractive, sharply edged, with a laughing turn to her mouth.

Sombra's gaze flickered, from Zarya's brow to her lips, her eyes again and then her shoulder, somewhere beyond, and at last to match her look.

"I could tell you," said Sombra. 

She reached up to brush idly at Zarya's shoulder. Zarya caught her arm by the wrist. The fingers curled, the long, gauntleted points pricking her through the shirt sleeve.

"So then tell me," said Zarya coldly, "if you think it would vindicate you. Save you from justice."

Sombra's face went cruel. "Justice is only what you decide it is." Her smile toyed at the edges. "And I've decided: not to tell you."

Zarya brought Sombra's arm down from her shoulder. "If it satisfies you. Don't struggle. I don't want to hurt you."

Sombra laughed again. "Would you like to hear a joke? I don't think I want to hurt you either. You're very entertaining." 

As Zarya made to bring Sombra's arm around, Sombra put a foot on top of Zarya's and then rose up on her toe. Her lips brushed at Zarya's jaw. Zarya made a harsh sound in her throat.

"Find me in Barcelona, Aleksandra Zaryanova," Sombra murmured, "and I might tell you a secret." She made a quick movement with her free hand. "Adiós, la Adelita."

Sombra dissipated in Zarya's grip. Long shafts of light darted across her; she was gone. Zarya's hands closed on air. Her knee bumped the table. The coffee cup fell to the floor and shattered on the stones.

The newsfeed had returned. The cafe's owner, the last worker of the night, emerged from the back room to fuss over the spill. Zarya's heart pattered. She worked her fingers. 

"Ah--lo siento," she said clumsily to the owner, who shooed Zarya back from helping to pick up the shards. 

Zarya's boot heel ground on something. She glanced. The scarf, spilled violet across the dusk red stones. She looked at it a moment, warmth still on her hand where she'd gripped Sombra by the wrist. Then she knelt to pick up the scarf.

"Barcelona," she said to it. Zarya wound the cloth around her palm and rose. Her skin burned curiously, pleasingly. Excitement at last. 

She wondered what Sombra might have to say if Zarya got both her hands on her.


End file.
